


Better To Be An Outsider

by starchitect



Category: Xenoblade Chronicles
Genre: All hurt no comfort, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dark Thoughts, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gen, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Unhealthy Relationships, edit: THERE'S FANART NOW LINK IN THE NOTES, it's angst hours, this one is just sad y'all there's no smiles here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:00:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26056105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starchitect/pseuds/starchitect
Summary: Lorithia had raised him ever since she found him and the Monado on Valak Mountain and brought them back to Alcamoth. He was her son, she had said, and she would protect him. Shulk supposes he should be grateful that she found him at all—he would have frozen to death otherwise—and yet with every passing day, he can’t help but feel relieved that he doesn’t have to be with her anymore.That’s… That’s not normal, is it?
Comments: 22
Kudos: 38





	Better To Be An Outsider

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Monado_Mona](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Monado_Mona/gifts).



> so,,,, AU where Lorithia finds Shulk on Valak Mountain instead of Dickson and she raises him in Alcamoth
> 
> this one goes out to my lovely friend Mona,,,,, this very sad AU was created by them and it's their birthday so I wrote them this
> 
> I LOVE YOU MONA, KEEP DOING WHAT YOU'RE DOING 💖💗💕

Shulk doesn’t think there was ever a time when he wasn’t afraid of Lorithia. Even when he was a kid, even when she would softly comb the tangles of his hair before bed, she was intimidating. She towered over him, tall and looming like the great fountains in Alcamoth—the same fountains Shulk feared might collapse on top of him if he stood too close. And every time she called his name, there was always a constant feeling of dread and anxiety that gnawed away at him. He didn’t need to ask—he _knew_ that whatever it was she wanted, it wouldn’t be good for him.

Lorithia had raised him ever since she found him and the Monado on Valak Mountain and brought them back to Alcamoth. He was her son, she had said, and she would protect him. Shulk supposes he should be grateful that she found him at all—he would have frozen to death otherwise—and yet with every passing day, he can’t help but feel relieved that he doesn’t have to be with her anymore.

That’s… That’s not normal, is it?

When Shulk was five, Lorithia took him outside for the first time, and he broke down crying because there were too many people. They were _everywhere,_ overwhelming him with questions about why his hair was a golden blond instead of silver and giving him odd looks because he didn’t have any wings. There were just _so many of them,_ and Shulk didn’t have an answer to any of their questions because he really didn’t _know._ And when Lorithia had taken him back inside, she promised him he would never have to go outside again. She would keep him _safe,_ at home, and no one would be able to hurt him.

Looking back, it’s almost funny—the person who promised to protect him turned out to be the one who hurt him the most.

Growing up, Lorithia had always told Shulk the reason why he didn’t have wings was because they hadn’t grown yet. He was just late, that’s all. It was only a matter of time before his wings would sprout forth and then he would be just like all the other High Entia. Just a little longer and then he would be normal.

It wasn’t until Shulk was thirteen that he realized how much of a lie that was.

One day, Lorithia told him that he wasn’t a High Entia, but a Homs. Shulk didn’t even know what that was—he had never met one before. The Homs were apparently a race that typically inhabited the lower regions of Bionis. They lacked the advanced technology that Alcamoth boasted, which meant they didn’t have effective weapons to combat against the Mechon.

And they didn’t have wings. Homs didn’t have wings. _Shulk_ didn’t have wings. He was never going to, and he never would. Shulk was an oddity amongst a society of _perfect_ beings, blessed with shiny, silvery hair, and the power of flight granted by the Bionis itself. The High Entia were _beautiful,_ and Shulk could never be like them.

But there was one way he could be like the High Entia, Lorithia had told him. With her scientific capabilities, it was possible to alter his DNA in order to cause wings to grow on his head. They would be magnificent, she said, just like hers. It almost sounded too good to be true. Shulk had always envied Lorithia’s wings. They were impressively large and elegant, and the idea of having wings just like hers sounded like a miracle.

When Shulk’s wings first started to grow, he was overjoyed. They were small and downy, and not at all like Lorithia’s yet, but he loved them nonetheless. In addition to that, the tips of his hair had turned silver, just like Lorithia’s and every other High Entia. This was only the beginning, but soon enough, Shulk would no longer be an imperfect Homs, and then he would finally, _finally_ be able to fit in with the other High Entia. He would no longer be an anomaly amongst a sea of purity.

Eventually, Shulk noticed his wings weren’t getting any bigger. He fretted over them day and night, but Lorithia promised him they would grow—his body was just adjusting to the changes it was undergoing. However, when months went by with no results, Lorithia started to resort to more drastic measures, modifying his DNA more and more. Small mutations and sicknesses wracked his body as a result of this, and that only made Lorithia more angry. Shulk ended up spending more time in her lab than not, and over time, it became overwhelming. The sterility of the lab was suffocating, and sometimes he’d swear he could smell blood. There were times when Lorithia would keep Shulk in her lab for days at a time, sometimes over a week, and with every passing second, he felt less like a person and more like a living experiment. He was just another one of her projects to toy with until it was completely perfect.

He wasn’t Lorithia’s son anymore.

Years passed. Lorithia became more and more focused on her personal projects, and Shulk was tossed aside like he was nothing more than a failure. Apparently she was tired of every experiment being less than successful, so she gave up trying to fix him. Shulk was finally free of the lab, but now it was like he didn’t even exist. He almost wished Lorithia hadn’t given up on him. At least then his existence was acknowledged.

But now, now there was nowhere for him to go. He was very much not a Homs anymore, but he wasn’t quite a High Entia either. He was just caught in the middle, a sad tangled mess of mixed DNA.

Shulk hated it. Every day, he would look in the mirror, and wish none of this had ever happened in the first place. He wished he could be a normal Homs again, even though he would never be able to live amongst the High Entia, because at the very least it was better to be an outsider than nothing at all.

Shulk could hardly stand his own reflection anymore. It got to the point where Lorithia came home and found him surrounded by scattered pieces of broken glass, his knuckles red and bleeding from where he had punched the mirror. She told him off for it, yelling about how disappointed she was in him, that he was a useless child, nothing more than a burden to her, and Shulk did nothing but listen while tears rolled down his cheeks and his knuckles continued to bleed.

He didn’t bandage them that night.

The night before Shulk left Alcamoth for good, he did something he didn’t think he would ever have the courage to do. Ever since Lorithia gave up on her experiments with him, there were times when he wanted to undo everything. He wanted to erase every single change Lorithia had made to his body. He would stare at his mangled reflection and wonder what would happen if he were to cut his wings off. There were even times when he had held a knife against the roots of one of them, but something always held him back. Every time he would come close to making a cut, the thought of the pain and of Lorithia’s inevitable punishment stayed his hand.

Still, that didn’t stop him from keeping the knife.

But now that Shulk was preparing to leave with this group of Homs on their quest for revenge, his wings had to be removed. There was no other choice. He was certain they already hated him for being so incompetent and letting that Faced Mechon kill their friend Fiora at Prison Island—they would hate him even more if they knew how much of a freak he was. That’s why he had to get rid of his wings.

And so, Shulk nervously bit his lip as he grabbed the knife. He had no idea what he was doing thanks to him breaking his own mirror two years ago, but it was probably better if he couldn’t see himself. He raised the knife to the root of his right wing, and suddenly he was thinking about Lorithia again. He would never be able to come back home after this, let alone be able to look at her again. He wouldn’t be able to call her Mother anymore, though he suspected Lorithia stopped considering him her son some time ago.

Still, it hurt.

Shulk took a deep breath. There was no going back now.

“I’m sorry.”

He began to cut.

And then he screamed.

* * *

Shulk can’t determine if it’s his anxiety making him sweat or the arid heat of Sword Valley. Probably a mix of both.

It’s been a few weeks since he started traveling with that group of Homs and with her Highness Melia. So far none of them have asked about his childhood, but that doesn’t mean they won’t eventually. And when one of them inevitably _does_ ask him, Shulk doesn’t know if he’ll be able to say anything.

That’s why he’s so nervous right now. Sharla had offered to cut his hair since it’s long and messy and it’s been obstructing his view in battle. And that’s _fine,_ except… Shulk doesn’t quite like the idea of anyone getting a close look at anything on his head. Even after he cut his wings off, there’s still some stray feathers that grow back every now and then, and if Sharla sees them, she’s going to _ask,_ and Shulk doesn’t know what he’s even going to _say_ about that. Not to mention the silver streaks still in his hair. Shulk’s natural color is a light enough blond that the silver is hard to notice unless you’re looking for it, but that doesn’t mean he’s not still anxious about Sharla being able to look at his hair too closely.

And yet, not being able to see dangerous things out of the corner of his eye is a problem, so Shulk doesn’t really have a choice but to let Sharla cut his hair.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be careful,” Sharla says as she procures a pair of scissors. Shulk just nods silently. It’s not that he doesn’t trust her—he doesn’t trust _himself._ He doesn’t trust himself not to break down entirely when Sharla inevitably asks about the feathers that he hasn’t been able to pluck yet.

And then, it starts. Bit by bit, pieces of silvery blond hair fall to the ground, and Shulk can’t help but flinch each time. He’s waiting for Sharla to notice, because there’s no way she _won’t,_ and he’s frantically trying to come up with a believable explanation when she asks.

She’s only silent for a few more minutes before she carefully takes one of the feathers between her fingers.

“What’s this…?”

_“Don’t take those out.”_

He doesn’t realize he’s said it until a few seconds later. But it’s out there now, so he has to go with it.

“Those are Mother’s feathers,” he says, and while it’s not entirely true, it’s not exactly a lie either. Those feathers are technically his, but… It was Lorithia who gave him his wings. They are just as much hers as they are his.

“She— She would braid them into my hair sometimes.”

Wrong. She manipulated his DNA so they would grow.

“She always said it would allow her to be with me even when she’s not around.”

And that’s what those remaining feathers are—a reminder. A reminder of how messed up he is, and how no matter how many feathers he painfully plucks from his head, he’s always going to be one of Lorithia’s projects. 

Sharla doesn’t comment, so Shulk keeps going.

“Please don’t take them out. I like them.”

He hates them. He hates them with every inch of his being. He hates what they represent, he hates where they came from. He wishes they would _stop growing back,_ because every time he plucks them, he’s forced to think about how much of a failure he is. He failed to be a Homs, he failed to be a High Entia, and there’s no doubt he’s going to fail at being anything else he tries to be.

It’s no wonder Lorithia tossed him aside.

“Your mother must have loved you a lot,” Sharla says, resuming her work, and Shulk has to stop himself from crying right then and there.

If only Lorithia had truly loved him. If only he wasn’t just another one of her experiments. If only, when Lorithia had said _“I love you,”_ before bed each night, she had meant it.

If only Shulk had been found by someone else, all those years ago. Perhaps things would be different.

But instead of telling Sharla she’s wrong, he just nods again with a low hum.

“Yeah.” 

He swallows the lump in his throat.

“She did.”

**Author's Note:**

> really feeling that post that's like "oh you're a fan of that character? name five situations you would put them in to cause them maximum emotional anguish"
> 
> feel free to yell at me in the comments I know this one is sad :')
> 
> and once again HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MONA, LOVE YOU AND YOUR AUS
> 
> Edit: HEY GUYS GO CHECK OUT THIS [SUPER COOL ART](https://twitter.com/Pachipower417/status/1298094365345292290) THAT MY FRIEND PACHI MADE I LOVE IT SO MUCH IT'S SO SAD AND YOU CAN SEE THE BLOOD AND I'M GOING FERAL


End file.
